


Marionette On Weakening Cables

by possessedradios (orphan_account)



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Buckle up kids it's time for another niche headcanon, Featuring Kepler's crippling identity issues, From the founder of team "Kepler would make for The Best Kindergarten Teacher", Gen, Give Jacobi A Break He Doesn't Have The Emotional Resources To Deal With This, Kepler lives (whether she likes it or not), Post canon, Suicidal Ideation, we bring you now "Please consider: Trans woman Kepler"!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 14:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/possessedradios
Summary: Jacobi usually doesn't take calls from numbers he's unfamiliar with. If he'd actually manage to stick to his own resolutions for just once in his life, he'd be able to spend a peaceful night home, listening to the others arguing about Monopoly. But sure, dealing with his ex-boss having a high-key existential crisis sounds nice, too, I guess.





	Marionette On Weakening Cables

**Author's Note:**

  * For [intearsaboutrobots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intearsaboutrobots/gifts).



> [The whole concept](https://shortwaveattentionspan.tumblr.com/post/179192350755/intearsaboutrobots-shortwaveattentionspan) is incredibly self-indulgent, I just love projecting on favs so now you get to admire trans lady Kepler not quite having figured out she's trans, yet.
> 
> The fic itself is completely inspired by Jude, thank you so much for talking about this with me!!
> 
> Title is taken from "Fighting in a Sack" by, you guessed it, The Shins.

Usually, he doesn’t take calls from numbers he doesn’t recognize, but, well.

“... Clark’s in charge of Goddard now …”

Jacobi says nothing for a moment and glances over to the others who are still engrossed in their current game of Monopoly because they aren’t broke and sulking on the couch (it’s 2:43 am, too late for sensible money management, as proven by Jacobi having given the last of his money and all his hotels to Eiffel about twenty minutes ago). 

“Da– Jacobi?”

Right. The phone. 

“Wait,” he says, and gets up, grabbing his cigarettes as he makes his way to the door. “Be right back,” he calls towards the general direction of the dinner table, and gets nothing in return, only a “That’s _not fair_ , you manipulated the dice somehow!” which is clearly not directed at him.

He holds the phone back to his ear once he’s outside.

“...kind of liked him, I think.”

“I didn’t get any of that,” Jacobi says. “I told you to wait. What was that?”

Silence, for a few long seconds, and then, “Nothing important.”

“Right.” Jacobi slowly walks through the garden, careful not to step on any of Pryce’s flowers because she’d probably kill him. He slowly sits down on the swingset Lovelace installed on their, like, third day or so of living here; this house really has its priorities straight. He lights a cigarette. “...Did Clark give you my number?”

Nothing. Jacobi sighs. “Kepler. Are you still there?”

“Mmhm. ...Clark’s in charge of–”

“Yeah, I know.” He takes a drag of his cigarette. The smoke lazily rises up, a stark contrast to the dark night sky, shaded with black and deep, inky blue, sprinkled with thousands of specks of light. Almost no light pollution; they’re at the end of the world. He’s not sure he likes being able to see the stars so clearly.

There’s nothing but very faint static for a long while, and Jacobi really doesn’t want to say anything – he’s not sure he wants to be talking to him at all; he’s angry, still, and something else he can’t and doesn’t want to name, and it was Kepler who called, after all, so he must want something–

But Kepler doesn’t say anything, and the silence grows uncomfortable and seems incredibly pointless, so Jacobi smokes his cigarette to the end and drops the butt to the ground, and lights a new one, and then asks, “How are you?”

“...Great,” Kepler says flatly.

Jacobi scoffs. “Right. Sure. Y’know, I’m not working for you anymore, so you shouldn’t have a reason to lie to me anymore.”

Kepler exhales slowly, a little shakily. “What d’you expect me to say?”

Jacobi frowns and stares at the cigarette between his fingers; at the glowing orange dot in front of almost-perfect darkness; they left most of the lights inside the house turned off, it’s nice to have a natural day/night cycle again, even if they end up staying awake until the early morning hours most of the time anyway. There’s a slight slur to Kepler’s words, they sound washed out, or as if they felt too heavy in his mouth; Jacobi isn’t sure how he managed to miss it first–

“You’re drunk,” he says. “That’s fantastic.”

“I don’t know what ‘m supposed to do now, Jacobi,” Kepler says, voice almost inaudible, and Jacobi tries really, really hard to not feel bad for him, but hearing him like that is such an abrupt change of everything he ever displayed in front of his team that it’s really hard. Even locked in the observation deck, Kepler kept acting as if he had everything under control, as if everything was going according to plan, as if everything hadn’t gone horribly to hell. He opens his mouth to tell him to get some sleep, but before he gets the chance, Kepler says, “I wasn’t s’pposed to come back, I don’t think.”

Jacobi blinks a little and needs a moment to process the words and make proper sense of them.

“Geez, you’re a ray of sunshine, aren’t you,” he says, but the sarcasm is half-forced. That’s not like Kepler. Call him naive, but even after everything, Jacobi still likes to think he knows Kepler, a little, at least, the basic construct that makes up ‘Warren James Kepler’, and that’s … not like him.

“Daniel, I don’t know what to _do_. ‘m– I’m not–” He cuts himself off, and then there’s only slight static again, and the echo of Jacobi’s first name, the lingering shadow of the profound desperation audible in Kepler’s voice.

“...Kepler, look, that’s–”

“I’ve nowhere to go or be, I– I want to– I don’t know, Daniel…”

Jacobi contemplates the whole situation for a moment, and he still doesn’t want to feel bad for him, absolutely doesn’t want to be worried and most decidedly doesn’t want to _care_ ; he’s _over that_ , but– 

But there’s a bitter taste in his mouth and he remembers the few weeks in San Francisco before Kepler had chatted him up, and he sighs and rubs his eye behind his glasses for a moment before cursing under his breath.

“Goddammit, you’re– Clark organized an apartment for you, right? You should go home. Where are you?”

“I don’t–”

“Please don’t say ‘I don’t know’, now,” Jacobi sighs.

“No,” Kepler breathes, “‘m outside. Outside the apartment. I don’t want t’go in, Daniel.”

Jacobi almost flinches, mainly because he knows _that_ feeling, too. He bites his lip and looks over to the house again, and then gets up. “Fine. Tell me your address.”

Kepler doesn’t even question this request, he just recites his address and sounds almost relieved, Jacobi thinks, and suddenly there’s the deeply uncomfortable thought inside his head, _Jesus Christ, he misses taking orders_.

“I’ll drive over,” he says. “Stay where you are. And stop drinking.” 

He ends the call and doesn’t tell the others why he’s grabbing the car keys before leaving again; they’re still busy with Monopoly anyway, and he’d rather not have a lively ‘He’s manipulating you again’ – ‘No he’s not’ discussion with Lovelace right now.

* * *

It fills Jacobi with equal parts petty joy and something else he doesn’t have a name for and that leaves a tight knot in his throat when his first thought is _Wow he looks pathetic_. 

He finds Kepler sitting on one of the steps leading up to the apartment building, staring at the ground. The fact that it started raining about ten minutes ago doesn’t exactly help with the whole ‘pathetic’ thing.

He sighs as he gets out of the car and walks over. “Hey,” he says. He doesn’t get a real reaction, just the slightest tilt of Kepler’s head, not quite a nod.

Jacobi hesitates for a moment before sitting down next to him. The ground is the tiniest bit wet, and he grimaces a little. “Y’know,” he says. “Sitting outside in the rain being sad never looks quite as cool in real life as it does in the movies.” He squints into the sky for a moment. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the missing atmospheric music.”

He gets nothing back yet again. Jacobi sighs again, something closer to the terribly impatient frustration he’s just really good at behind it now. “Alright, talk. What’s wrong?”

Kepler slowly shakes his head and then shrugs, and Jacobi almost snaps at him to just spit it out. He manages to hold the words back at the last moment and takes a deep breath instead.

“Look,” he says, deliberately slow and calm. “I drove all the way out here, five towns over, which is, like, twenty miles _beyond_ ‘end of the world’, because you– sounded really fucked up, okay? And I know that concept is super hard to grasp for you, but if you don’t _talk to me_ , I have no idea what the hell I’m actually doing here because I don’t know what to do to– help you or whatever.” He ends the sentence a little abruptly, mostly because he experiences a quick moment of complete clarity, and the fact that he’s the one asking someone for open communication triggers something akin to cognitive dissonance.

“I… don’t know what to… what to say,” Kepler says, finally lifting his head to look at him, even if only for half a second before focussing his gaze on a point just behind Jacobi’s shoulder. Not that Kepler’s eyes are too focused to begin with.

“I told you to stop drinking,” Jacobi sighs. “Could you– please just tell me what’s wrong?”

“Daniel, I’ve nowhere to go …”

“You have your apartment right here–”

“I don’t– don’t belong–” He shrugs again, and lifts one hand – the real one – to wipe at his eyes. “I wasn't supposed to come back. I was s’pposed to die up there, together with Rachel, but I… didn't and now I don’t know what to dot to do and– and I’m not– I’m not even anyone anymore, I’m not even a person, ‘m no one and–”

Jacobi blinks a little and stares at Kepler, not sure what to do with any of that, now that he’s talking, besides being really fucking worried. The words are slurred and stumbled enough that he’s not even sure he gets all of it, but the gist of it seems to be a fucking identity crisis, and he doubts he’s got the emotional capacity to properly deal with that.

“Um,” he says, spectacularly proving his own point.

It’s enough to throw Kepler off track; he trails off and looks at him for a moment, and Jacobi really doesn’t want to think about why his eyes are blurry, because he doesn’t know if he can blame it on his drunken state completely. 

Jacobi swallows and shakes his head. “Um,” he repeats, “look, I… I don’t really know what to do with all of that right now, but you sure as fuck managed to make me worry about you.”

“I’m– I’m not suicidal,” Kepler says, which, honestly, is concerning enough, because _Jacobi_ didn’t use that word, “I just– Everything would just… be much easier if I was dead, I was… I don’t think I’d planned to survive all of that, up there–”

Jacobi tastes something bitter in his throat as he swallows. “Yeah, look, I’m not sure we have the same definition of ‘suicidal’, because all I’m hearing is that you really want to be dead.”

It’s quiet for a moment as those words hang in the air.

“Sorry,” Kepler breathes eventually. “I didn’t… didn’t mean for you to be– be worried about me…” He slowly trails off in the end.

Jacobi stares at him for a few more seconds. He has half a mind to ask Kepler if he has a gun, tucked underneath his pillow in the apartment, perhaps, just like they used to do it on missions, but he’s afraid of the answer.

“Fuck, Lovelace is going to kill me,” he groans, and gets up, holding out one hand for Kepler. Kepler stares at it.

“C’mon,” Jacobi says. “I’m taking you home with–”

“No,” Kepler says, genuine horror in his eyes for a moment. “No, no, I don’t want– I can’t–”

“Stop!” Jacobi says, finally snapping and raising his voice – and it’s almost comforting; anger is something he can cope with – “I really don’t know how else to deal with this, I can’t think of another solution that doesn’t involve calling the police on you to take you somewhere until you’re at least sobered up, because everything you’re saying here is really fucking concerning. So get up, get in the car and let me drive you home, and if you miss it so fucking much, this can be a goddamn order!”

Maybe it’s the fact that Jacobi, before space, never would have dared talking to him like that. Kepler stares at him for a few long seconds, and eventually, finally, takes his hand to stand, a little unsteady.

… A lot unsteady, as Jacobi tries to pull him towards the car, and he wonders just how much Kepler has been drinking, only to decide that this, too, is a question he probably doesn’t want answered.

“They all hate me,” Kepler mumbles, referring, Jacobi suspects, to the Hephaestus guys.

“Not _all of them_ hate you,” he says flatly. “I’m pretty sure Eiffel and Pryce don’t really have a personal opinion on you.”

He doesn’t get an answer, which, to be fair, is probably, well, fair.

He has to help Kepler into the car, which internally brings him back full circle to the whole ‘pathetic’ thing again. “Please don’t throw up in here. I know that thing is super old, but Lovelace thinks a pick-up truck, quote, raises her lesbian level. So, y’know,” he says, before slamming the door shut. When he climbs into the driver’s seat, he only half listens as Kepler says something that vaguely sound like “I’m– ‘m not an agent anymore… I’m not even sure I’m a guy–” but there’s really not much he can do about the existentialism, plus he really just wants to get back home, so he simply turns on the radio as he starts driving.

**Author's Note:**

> There will probably Be More (maybe, if I Manage) because I really,, love her a lot. Come find me on tumblr at @possessed-radios or on my podcast sideblog, @shortwaveattentionspan.


End file.
